


The Edge of an Island

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alien Biology, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Insecurity, Kid Fic, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pregnancy, Romance, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Trans Male Character, Trans character written by trans author, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-26 21:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley retire to the South Downs.





	The Edge of an Island

**Author's Note:**

> _Do you know, said Dan, the British coast gets longer the more you measure it? We tried one day in the first year, they brought us to the beach and gave us tasks and questions and that was one of them, measure the shoreline, and of course the harder you try the more of it there is, aroud the rock pools and up and down every slope, and after a while we realized it’s infinite, the edge of an island is infinite. I suppose that was the point._ —from _Ghost Wall_ by Sarah Moss

The light from a passing cab startled Crowley out of his reverie. He’d been sitting in the driver’s seat of the Bentley, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring out at nothing in particular for the better part of an hour. The car had been switched off for ages but Crowley hadn’t mustered up the courage to go into the bookshop just yet, despite the chilly March evening and the fact that he very much needed to discuss something with Aziraphale. He just couldn’t think how to go about it.

A small, sensible part of him told him that he should just walk right in, explain the situation and how he thought it had happened, and the two of them could move forward from there. The rest of him was sending a mix of conflicting signals, everything from telling Aziraphale he wanted to call off moving to the downs together (he very much didn’t) to turning the car back on and driving until he was well on his way across the continent, never to return to England.

What he eventually decided on was striding into the bookshop, closing the door sharply behind him, and saying to Aziraphale, “We need to talk.”

Aziraphale looked up from the paperwork he was doing with no small amount of trepidation, and Crowley felt rather bad. That is, until Aziraphale sniffed and said, “yes, I daresay we do. I’ve been going over the deed and are you aware that the current owners of this cottage haven’t done a single bit of maintenance since they bought it in the fifties? Most of it shouldn’t be a problem, updating appliances and the like, but the plumbing will have to be gutted.” He held out a sheet of paper for Crowley to take and Crowley raised an eyebrow at him until he set it back down. “I’m only saying, my dear, it’s not too late to change your mind about that nice place in—”

“Angel.” Crowley said, softly but firmly, “I like this place. _You_ like this place. If we need to have a bit of work done, we’ll do it.” He gave Aziraphale a pointed look. “I didn’t come over to talk about the cottage, anyway.”

Aziraphale fidgeted behind the counter, making a great show of taking off the large round glasses he wore when he was reading or doing paperwork. Crowley waited as he rounded the counter and gestured for them to go into the back room.

“What is this about, my dear?” Aziraphale asked as he poured them both wine. Crowley’s chest gave an unpleasant clench as he realized he’d have to refuse. Or at least, he thought that was usually what was done. It wasn’t like he kept up on such things but he’d heard somewhere once that—but people have been drinking wine for generations, hadn’t they? How recently had he heard—

“Crowley?” Aziraphale repeated, and Crowley jerked to attention, taking in Aziraphale’s expression which had now definitely shifted from apprehensive into concerned. It was a very good bottle of red, too, Crowley thought, eyeing it as he joined Aziraphale on the lumpy old sofa in the back room.

“I’m fine.” He said, although he wasn’t sure he was. He had no idea how to begin.

“Are you quite sure?” Aziraphale asked, leaning closer to look at him, all tenderness, and Crowley’s heart did another uncomfortable thing in his chest.

“I… I’m _not_ sure, actually.” He took a breath. And another. He eyed the wine.

“A drink might make you feel more at ease?” Aziraphale prompted, following his line of sight.

 “I don’t think I ought to.” Crowley said, very quietly.

“Since when have you given a toss about what you ought?” Aziraphale said with a cluck of his tongue. Crowley laughed at that, a sound that seemed startled and unnatural even to his own ears. It made Aziraphale frown and shift closer on the sofa, cupping his cheek and peering into his eyes. There was so much love there, Crowley thought, so much love and a touch of impatience. Crowley closed his eyes, not wanting to see Aziraphale’s expression when he said what was coming next.

 “Have you ever—” Crowley began, then paused and took a breath, gathering his thoughts. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, and not even known you wanted it?”

“My dear.” Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley opened his eyes to see Aziraphale looking at him with gentle reproach, the corners of his eyes crinkling with fondness, and Crowley could hear the unspoken ‘you’ as if Aziraphale had shouted it. He relaxed slightly.

“Besides that.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, a small smile forming as he did so. “Not to my knowledge.” Crowley snorted and Aziraphale pressed a brief kiss to the tip of his nose. His hands sat in his lap, and Crowley took them, twining their fingers together and hanging on.

“I mean something else. Has there ever been something you only realized once you had it that you’d wanted it at all? Something... I don’t know.” He looked down at where his and Aziraphale’s hands were clasped together.

Aziraphale frowned. “What’s this about?”

“Angel,” Crowley said in what was barely a whisper, “Angel, I think I’m pregnant.”

Aziraphale clutched Crowley’s hand so hard he felt sure if he’d been human he would have broken something.

“You—what?” Aziraphale said. “How can you be—Crowley that’s completely ridiculous, you—”

“I have, er, all the right… well, parts.” Crowley said, very awkwardly. He felt his face heat up as it occurred to him there really was no simple way to explain the conclusions he’d arrived at in the six days since he’d confirmed the information for himself. “Just because some of them _can_ go away sometimes doesn’t mean all of them _do_ , it seems.”

“It _seems?”_

“Listen,” Crowley said desperately, “it’s like… like how the Bentley goes even though I never buy petrol. Somehow I’m making something run somewhere even when I’m not consciously thinking about it.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, who stared back with defiant embarrassment and the surety that he’d cocked this entirely up already. “I’m sorry, but _what_ is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Crowley blew air past his lips and tried to think how to explain. “At first I thought, oh, great, my corporation’s rebelling after all this time, just when the chances of me getting a new one are at the absolute lowest they’ve ever been.” He said in a rush. “But then I thought, well, I’ll just get rid of it. And I tried, but... I don't think I want to. I _know_ I don't want to." And because he didn't, he couldn't. Bit of an issue, when the world around you could be shaped by your will in a more direct way than was true for humans. You could lie to yourself but you couldn't make reality match. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale breathed. Crowley glared at him, and he looked rather sheepish. “It’s just that. Well. I’d never even considered the possibility that you _could_ before.”

“Nor had I.” Crowley agreed.

“I might have taken greater care to… if I’d known.”

Crowley tensed again.

“Crowley, my dear, I… I hardly know what to say or how to apologize.”

Crowley flinched. “Apologize?”

“Do you not want an apology?” The angel was giving him a hesitant, sorrowful look, and Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale’s expression changed to one of confusion. “I’m not sure I understand why you were so reluctant to have this conversation, in that case.”

Crowley spluttered. He couldn’t help it. “Because we’re set to move in the next several months and I didn’t know how this would figure into those plans?” _Because I was afraid you’d tell me you didn’t want this, or me, anymore,_ Crowley thought, closing his eyes for a moment again.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed, pulling him in for a hug and kissing his temple. “Crowley, dearest. We’ll add a room on for the nursery when we’re doing renovations. It’s not that complicated.”

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, cushioned against the shoulder of Aziraphale’s old woolen jumper, letting the angel pet his hair. 

“Do you think it will look like us?”

For a moment Crowley froze. He hadn’t even considered such a thing in the days since he’d felt something unfamiliar and oddly _warm_ in his own aura, something he’d tried to explain away with happiness about the upcoming move or the lengthening daylight or the blossoms on the trees. But Crowley knew what happiness was, and love (for all Aziraphale had once rudely implied) and it wasn’t the same. He may not have realized at all, having none of the same reactions humans with reproductive systems geared towards pregnancy would have done, if he hadn’t happened to see a woman pushing a pram through the park. He’d never got as far as considering what a baby would actually be like, because the first thing that had shot through his mind was that he didn’t know how Aziraphale was going to react. Apparently, this was how.

And then Crowley started to laugh, the anxieties he’d been carrying around finally starting to dissolve, and Aziraphale started to chuckle as well. And when Crowley ran out of breath he moved to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips.

“I hope it looks like you, angel.” Crowley breathed against his mouth.

Some time later Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s hair, “do you suppose we ought to get married?”

Crowley looked at him incredulously. “You don’t think we need to get married to buy a cottage on the beach together, but you _do_ think we need to get married to have a kid?” He snickered, and Aziraphale huffed without any real animosity.

“Would you _like_ to get married, then?”

“I don’t think so. Never been much of one for the whole big white dress look.”

“I rather thought you might say that.” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the crown of Crowley’s head.

“I think I’d prefer we just skipped that part.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Aziraphale said, sounding a bit relieved, and when he shifted on the sofa Crowley stretched and rearranged himself more comfortably against him. “I quite like rings, though, as far as traditions go.”

“I’ll get you any ring you could ever want.” Crowley murmured sleepily from where his head was resting on Aziraphale’s chest. “Tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, it took Crowley nearly a month to find rings he thought would meet with Aziraphale's approval, but he didn't mind, because it gave him a reason to have a look around all the antiques shops in London for furniture while he was at it. Crowley was not particularly attached to any of the items in his flat, besides the plants and some miscellanea from the kitchen, but he absolutely refused to allow Aziraphale free reign on decorating. There'd be tartan everywhere. No, it was best to head him off by filling the cottage with things that were just enough like Aziraphale's sense of style while at the same time actually being stylish. Old-fashioned without being twee. 

While Crowley was busy securing purchases of old wardrobes and dining room tables and making plans to have them driven to the downs, Aziraphale was shopping around for people who might bring the plumbing situation into the latter half of the twentieth century and restore the greenhouse out back of the cottage, because while Crowley might have said he could do such things himself when they had visited the place in the early winter, Aziraphale doubted he would want to do much of anything in the upcoming months. He was also quietly devouring every book he could get his hands on with such titles as _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ and _Baby and Child Care_. He wavered back and forth on whether it would be sensible to track down the books Crowley had once read to Warlock Dowling or if that would dredge up something unpleasant; in the end he settled for pulling out the list of new stock Adam had willed into his shop and reordering some of those. 

 

* * *

 

"Have you got ideas for names?" Aziraphale asked at lunch in May, after a lull in the conversation about the final things that absolutely needed to be done before they could move. Crowley was impatient to get started with his garden before they got much further into the spring, and Aziraphale was just impatient to be with Crowley. 

"Eve." Crowley said breezily, and Aziraphale hummed. 

"Rather sentimental for you." He said as Crowley took another sip of his drink (something fizzy and scented like elderflower; Crowley had decided it was better to be safe than sorry and thus was foregoing alcohol even though Aziraphale had pointed out that nothing about their bodies really needed to operate the way humans' did). 

Crowley shrugged.

"What if it isn't a girl?" 

"You think I can't tell?" Crowley raised his eyebrows. 

" _Can_  you?" Aziraphale sounded rather dubious. " _How_?" 

Crowley just shrugged again. He wasn't looking at Aziraphale, was instead flipping through the paperwork the angel had brought concerning the renovations. "I don't see that there's any reason we can't have people in to add an extra room while we're living there. It's not as if we need to knock down an exterior wall, see? These plans they've given you say it'll take a week. We can put up with having builders in the cottage for a week." He traced along the pencil drawing Aziraphale had brought from his meeting with a construction company showing how the hall and the sitting room would be turned into three rooms, one of which would be the room for the little girl Crowley was already, in the privacy of his mind, calling by a name.

"Crowley." Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley felt him take his hand across their small table. He looked up and narrowed his eyes at the sympathetic look Aziraphale was giving him. 

"What?" He replied, a touch testily. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, let out a quiet huff of annoyance, and closed it again. He took his hand back and crossed his arms. Just as Crowley was about to give up on waiting for him to get his words together and go back to talking about construction some more, he said, "I trust you and your judgement. You know that, yes?" 

"I know, angel." Crowley answered absently, thinking about the room that was to be added to the cottage. He thought he might like to paint it a very soft blue. The light would end up coming into the room at an angle, just because of how the cottage was oriented, and he'd always thought soft blue made a room open up, feel bigger than it actually was. He watched Aziraphale fidget in his chair. 

"I... I just want to make sure you're happy. With all of it." His voice was very hesitant, and if it had been any other topic, any other  _time_ , Crowley would have laughed. Scoffed, a little. But there was something in Aziraphale's tone that made him pause. Another question, one Crowley had been asked precious few times during their shared eternity and never in a way that implied his answer mattered. _Is this what you want?_  

Crowley took off his sunglasses and immediately regretted it when the full force of the May sun hit him in the eyes. Aziraphale let out an undignified laugh into his napkin, Crowley hissed lightly at him, and the moment was lost. 

They ordered a slice of lemon cake for dessert and shared it as they made notes on the construction plans and Aziraphale assured Crowley he'd call to follow up with the company later in the afternoon. 

 

* * *

 

 

The thing was, Aziraphale thought as he kept one eye on Crowley from where he was planted under a tree in the garden with a child psychology book hidden inside a book on the history of Rome. Crowley had refused to put off moving to the cottage any later than the end of spring because he wanted to get a start on his plants so that they’d have herbs and vegetables come fall. The cottage was not quite up to a level of comfort where Aziraphale would happily spend time in there, and in all likelihood would not be until the repairs to the plumbing and the addition of the nursery were completely done so that the workers doing them would leave for good. But it was pleasant outside, and Crowley was obviously enjoying himself, so Aziraphale didn’t truly have any complaints.

There were the beginnings of tomatoes in the greenhouse now, growing alongside what Aziraphale thought was borage and another flower he didn’t know the name of. There were onions, carrots, and radishes between the greenhouse and the west wall of the cottage. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, as well as oregano, coriander, and three kinds of basil were arranged in pots, waiting for them to get further into the summer before Crowley transferred them into the ground. Crowley was leaning over them now, murmuring to them in a tone that was nowhere near as harsh as it might once have been, and Aziraphale watched him fondly as he prodded at the beginnings of green.

The thing  _was_ , Aziraphale thought, Crowley looked happier than he’d ever been. And that made Aziraphale happy, obviously, but it also made him feel a little pang of remorse for all the years they had spent doing something other than this. If he had known the way to get Crowley to smile like that was to ask him to move to the countryside and have a baby together, he would have made an effort in that direction centuries ago. Millennia, even.

But he hadn’t known. They’d been together, on and off, for  _years_ , and Aziraphale had watched Crowley raise Warlock, and he had never known, in all that time, after all that they’d been through, that this comfortable little domestic life might be something he’d want. It made Aziraphale wonder what else he’d somehow overlooked.

A beam of sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell on the page Aziraphale had been failing to read for the last ten minutes. He closed the books with a sigh and Crowley turned around, giving him a searching look and then tsking at him as he strode over.

“You’re worrying again, angel.” He said as he sat down in the grass beside Aziraphale. Before Aziraphale could respond he reached over and took the books from him—both the childcare book and the book on Rome he’d been trying to hide it with. “Thought I told you to take a break for a bit.”

“I just want to be prepared.” Aziraphale said, trying to take the books back. Crowley held them away out of his reach. “It doesn’t seem fair, is all. We’re very badly balanced right now, the least I can do for you is read a few books.”

Crowley looked at him, exasperation spreading across his face. “ _Aziraphale_.”

“What?” Aziraphale snapped, and Crowley shook his head as he set the books down in the grass. Before Aziraphale had a chance to get annoyed Crowley leaned his head against his shoulder and twined their hands together.

“You don’t have to stress yourself out trying to anticipate and plan everything.” He said after a moment.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I’m, what, just about three months along?”

“Fourteen weeks, assuming we guessed correctly on the date of conception.”

Crowley squeezed his hand. “See?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Aziraphale said very quietly, and Crowley sighed.

For a few minutes there was silence apart from the rustle of the leaves, a bird in the distance. Then Crowley said, “D’you know, I was fully prepared to do this alone if for some reason you decided you didn’t want to?”

Aziraphale looked at him in horror. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“The point is, you’re… you don’t need to worry so much. You’re not giving either of us enough credit. We’ve been around for six thousand years, you think we can’t take care of an infant?”

“No.” Aziraphale said immediately, and Crowley laughed.

“Okay, that’s fair. We aren’t competent, I know we’re not. But…” he shrugged. “It all seems to have turned out alright, regardless. Why shouldn’t this?”

“I wish I could be as sure.” Aziraphale said. “It’s only...” He swallowed, unsure how to voice his fears in a way that didn’t sound patronizing. “Crowley, you are so very precious to me, and I want you to feel…”  _Safe,_  he thought.  _Happy. Loved._  He said none of it, but Crowley watched him intently for a moment, and that seemed to be understanding enough.

“Listen.” Crowley said, very quietly, and he took hold of Aziraphale’s hand and moved it to the bump on his stomach. For a moment Aziraphale heard nothing, and then he realized Crowley hadn’t meant the instruction literally. Instead, he tuned in to the sense all angels and demons have and some humans can learn to access, the gentle humming that runs underneath and throughout the world. The love that was there, plain enough for anyone to see, but it was always something else to feel it this way. Crowley, and him, and now a third, somehow like the both of them but different all at once. Aziraphale nudged at it and he felt it nudge him right back, and Crowley gave him a look that said very plainly  _see, you fussy, irritating thing? It’s alright._

 

* * *

 

 

Crowley was driving back from the farmer’s market, humming along to the radio and thinking about how much he was looking forward to the cake he was planning to make with the fresh berries and honey he’d bought from one of the old women in the village.

It would have terrified him once, to be as happy as he was now, because Crowley was a demon and no demon anywhere was ever allowed to be happy for long.

But he’d decided that day in March, that day Aziraphale had wanted to apologize, made love to him with the unhurried ease of someone who anticipated all the time in the world together, that whatever came next, whatever happened, he was going to take it for granted. He was going to _revel_ in it. He was going to treat it as something that could not be snatched away or destroyed or threatened, because it seemed to him he deserved, after so many years, to feel secure in something. Both of them did.

So of course, the song on the radio crackled away into static as Crowley turned a bend and Crowley cursed quietly as Dagon’s voice came through the speakers.

“Crowley. We have some disturbing intelligence we would like you to deny for us.” The duke’s voice was threatening as always, but with an edge of malicious glee Crowley had been sincerely hoping he would never hear again. He swallowed.

“Uh, I’ll do my best. What seems to be the, er, intel?”

“We have it on good authority that you have left London. With the angel Aziraphale.” There was a heavy pause and Crowley forced himself to continue driving normally. “The angel you were seen with in Tadfield two years ago.”

“Ah. Yes. That’s right.” Crowley said. He winced at how apologetic he sounded; he’d been so hoping that if this day ever came he wouldn’t stoop to groveling.

“We also have heard,” Dagon continued as though Crowley had not spoken, “that you are carrying his child.”

Crowley’s blood froze in his veins.

“Well, Crowley?” Dagon said, harshly. “Is this true?”

“Where are you getting your information?” Crowley snapped. “If you’ve sent someone to keep an eye on me, at least do me the courtesy of—”

“Courtesy?” Dagon spat. “You deserve no show of courtesy, Crowley. You, who conspired to prevent the triumph of our Lord and Master, now whoring yourself out to the enemy. The product of your union—”

“Is none of your business.” Crowley was practically shaking. It was only the many years of experience that kept the Bentley moving forward; the car knew after such a long time how to keep driving without Crowley at full attention on the wheel.

Dagon chuckled. “On the contrary. Whatever your _lover_ ,” Dagon spat the word, “may have done to convince you otherwise, you belong to Hell, Crowley. Your spawn is Hell’s spawn, regardless of the seed that may have been spilled to produce it. Once it is born someone will be sent to collect it.”

The ice of Crowley’s blood thawed just the tiniest bit, enough for him to choke out, “I won’t let you touch her.” though his sudden trembling fury.

“It isn’t up to you.” Dagon dismissed. “Enjoy the next… hmm, six months, I should think… with your beloved.” His tone was positively gleeful, and Crowley didn’t even notice that the radio had resumed playing Cyndi Lauper until the car had stopped out front of the cottage and shut itself off.

Crowley walked inside on shaky legs and leaned against the counter in the kitchen. The things from the farmer’s market were set down mechanically, all joy at the prospect of baked goods gone. The sound of the clock in the hall seemed unnaturally loud, echoing in Crowley’s head, time-up time-up time-up time—no.

_No._

Crowley had given up so much, over the millennia, endured so much, and he was _done_. They’d decided they were done, together, Aziraphale and him, standing side by side and facing down their respective bosses, rising above their respective roles. And he was _done_ portioning out his happiness as though it had an expiration date. 

But when Aziraphale came in the front door a moment later, beaming and gesturing for Crowley to come see the collection of books he’d brought for the nursery, Crowley forced it down, desperately, impossibly, the panic and the injustice of it, to worry about later. To worry about when it wouldn’t take that look off of the angel’s face.

 

Aziraphale had gone into London for the day to see about some business that needed to be done for the shop. Part of him had wanted to up and sell the whole thing, stock, furniture, clutter and all, but it simply wouldn’t have been wise to let just any human go through the personal effects he kept in the flat above. There were antiques, for one thing.

So it was with some reluctance Aziraphale had begun searching for discreet ways to sell his many unusual (and in some cases illicit) possessions that he didn’t wish to accompany him and Crowley to the Downs, which had led him to some rather questionable websites, which had led him to periodically returning to London to box up an item here or there when it sold and dropping that box in the post.

It was during one such trip to his former residence that Gabriel appeared in his front room.

“Aziraphale.” He said, looking bored and irritated. “I’ve been asked to deliver a message.”

Aziraphale stood up straighter, feeling suddenly very afraid. He hadn’t heard from Heaven since he’d tried to convince the Metatron that the great plan and the ineffable plan might not be one and the same, and he didn’t like the implications for a visit now. “From whom?” is all he said.

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. “Upstairs knows you’re sleeping with that demon Crowley.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale said. He didn’t know what else to say. There didn’t seem to be anything that could be done.

“We also know,” Gabriel said slightly louder, “that you’ve managed to get him pregnant.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem wise, with Gabriel giving him that sort of look.

“The child belongs to Heaven.” Gabriel said after several moments. “Surely you can understand how such a thing must play out.”

Aziraphale blinked, seeing Gabriel as though through a fog. “Explain it to me.” He said, a warning in his tone. The archangel shrugged, unruffled.

“The demon cannot be allowed to keep it, nor to hand it over to His Side. Surely you remember, Aziraphale, the endless trouble the Nephilim caused all those years ago?”

“Those children were half human.” Aziraphale protested. He realized he was shaking, his fists clenched and his voice wavering, and he swallowed before continuing. “This is not a similar situation and you know that perfectly well. The child—”

“The child may be a product of your own foolish behavior,” Gabriel spoke loudly enough to drown Aziraphale out, “but that doesn’t mean Upstairs is prepared to clean up your mess, should things… escalate. You will surrender it after its birth and we shall proceed from there.”

“Absolutely not.” Aziraphale snarled, moving forward, but Gabriel simply sighed and vanished, reappearing several feet away and giving Aziraphale a reproachful look.

“You will do as you are told, Principality.” Gabriel said coldly. “You are not being given a choice. Enjoy the rest of your time with your…” he made a dismissive gesture with his hand and strode out of the bookshop, slamming the door behind him so hard the little panes of glass rattled.

Aziraphale stood there, staring after, numb with shock. He stayed there for a long time. Then, remembering the package he needed to drop off and another he needed to pick up, the children’s books that had finally made their way back to him after months of tracking them down again, he shook himself and left the shop.

By the time Aziraphale was walking over the threshold to the cottage he’d managed to compartmentalize his fears about Gabriel for another time. After all, Crowley looked so delighted to see him. It wouldn’t have done, Aziraphale thought as he watched Crowley look through the box Aziraphale had brought home, periodically lifting something out of it scoff or exclaim, to wipe that expression away.

**Author's Note:**

> I did _not_ intend for this to be multichapter, or to end on this kind of ominous note, but the Names For Sides discord bullied me into it.


End file.
